


The House of Abrasax

by iluvdanimal



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, JA Secret Santa, went a wee bit overboard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iluvdanimal/pseuds/iluvdanimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jupiter Jones' head hurt.  Really hurt, like she'd been on a three-day bender.</p><p>Or maybe she'd been whacked in the back of the head with a pipe, rendered unconscious while three people fought over her, and brought to an abandoned house to regain consciousness while someone went through her wallet.</p><p>It could go either way, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leapylion3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leapylion3/gifts).



> This is for leapylion3 - my gift to her for the JA Secret Santa Challenge on tumblr. The prompt was spy/secret agent AU - I don't know that this is quite what you were looking for, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Merry Christmas!
> 
> [ETA] You indicated, in one of our exchanges earlier this month, that one of the things you liked about Jupiter Ascending is that it's kind of batshit (same, btw!). . . . Upon a more rested review of this, perhaps there are parallels between the original work and this (kind of batshit) homage ;)

Jupiter Jones' head hurt. _Really_ hurt, like she'd been on a three-day bender. 

The last thing she remembered, she was saying good-bye at Katherine Dunlevy's apartment. Katherine was a high school friend who'd studied design in college and wanted her own line of clothing the way Jupiter wanted to be able to afford to move out of her uncle's basement. Katherine would commonly use Jupiter as a model for her designs, dressing her up and photographing her. Then Katherine would post them to Instagram and tag the designers and fashion houses whose attention she wanted. 

Today, it had been purple – she'd been dressed in a lavender evening gown with a slit in the front cut up to her hipbone, which appeared to be fashioned from one single enormous length of ribbon. Katherine had put glitter in her hair – she could still feel it sticking to her scalp – and there had been so much mascara on her lashes, she could feel the weight of it when she blinked.

Thankfully, it had all come off. But what happened after she'd kissed Katherine good-bye? She struggled to remember as she groaned and shifted, and realized she was also cold.

Then she realized she was cold because she was laying on a bare wood floor. And then she realized that there was a gun laying within her reach.

Which she realized might come in handy, since there was a man standing in the middle of the darkened room she was in – a kitchen, maybe? – fiddling with her phone and rummaging through her wallet.

Trying to be stealthy, she reached for it, and backed herself against the wall as she sat up. She leveled the gun, clasped in both hands, at the man. She started to speak, but her cut her off.

“Works better if you take the safety off.”

Jupiter had no idea how to take the safety off a handgun; she'd never held one in her life. Even if she did, she couldn't see properly in the dim light, or through the pounding in her head. But he didn't need to know that.

“Turn around,” she commanded.

He put down her phone and put his hands up in surrender before turning around slowly.

He was tall, and she couldn't quite see in the darkened room, but he had a long face and a goatee, with short spiked hair. 

He nodded at her. “Careful. You've been out for a few hours.”

“Where am I?” She hated that her voice was shaky, but she was terrified and her head was killing her.

“In a secure location. You know, you really shouldn't point a gun you don't intend to shoot.”

She tilted her head, irritated that he was altogether collected. He clearly had the upper hand, and knew it. “You think I won't shoot you?”

His eyebrows shot up. “I know you won't, the way you're holding that. Besides, it's not loaded.”

Jupiter forgot her fear a moment in a burst of anger. “Oh – what, this is _funny?”_ She shook the apparently useless gun at him. “You think this is _funny?_ Are you some kind of fucked up comedian? I have no idea where I am or who you are or what's going on and you're getting a _laugh_ out of this?”

He remained irritatingly calm. “I'm sorry, Miss Jones,” he said, his chin tucked down a little. “I don't find this funny at all. I'm just not stupid enough to arm a civilian with no firearms experience. I just thought it might make you feel better to have some kind of weapon in your hands.”

“And what are _you,_ some kind of a cop?” she snapped.

He shook his head gently and put his hands down. “No. My name is Caine Wise. I'm here to help you.”

Jupiter lowered her hands, since it seemed the gun was of no use anyway, but she didn't let go of the weapon. If nothing else, she could hit him with it. “Okay,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment against the pain in her head. “First things first. Where am I?”

“You're still in Chicago,” the man, Caine apparently, replied. “We're in an abandoned house, not far from downtown.”

“And what _happened?”_ she demanded, a little more forcefully. “The last thing I remember, I was leaving Katherine's apartment.”

Caine nodded. “You were attacked,” he said, and ignored the sardonic look she shot him. “He disoriented you with a blow to the head, and then incapacitated you with chloroform. I imagine your head hurts quite a bit.”

She winced, remembering a sharp burst of pain and then a vaguely sweet, chemical smell. “Yeah, it's killing me – do you have anything I can take? Even some water?” Although, she thought belatedly, she probably couldn't trust anything he gave her.

He shook his head – and was that softness in his eyes? “No,” said Caine. “I'm sorry; Titus didn't give me expenses for a first aid kit.”

“Who the fuck is Titus?” At this point, Jupiter didn't care who she offended, even if he did appear concerned. “Did he do this to me?”

“Titus Abrasax,” Caine supplied. “He didn't hurt you; neither did I. He hired me to find you, I'm a private investigator. I was just going to follow you home so I'd know how to approach you without scaring you. It's his brother's lackeys, I imagine, who hurt you.”

“Wait – Titus _Abrasax?_ Like, as in, the _House_ of Abrasax?”

Caine nodded patiently. “You've heard of them, then.”

Jupiter put the gun between her feet on the floor and rubbed her temples with her fingers. “Yeah, everyone has, but . . . they like, make clothes and makeup and shit.”

“They also make a lot of enemies – usually within their own family,” said Caine. “I don't know why Titus or his brother want you. Titus would only tell me it was personal, and all he wanted was for me to find you and arrange a meeting. I wouldn't have taken the job if I thought he wanted to hurt you.”

Her heart started thudding in her chest. “What about his brother?”

“I don't know, Miss Jones.” Caine's eyes were apologetic. 

Panic started to rise in her throat, and so did bile. “Do you think . . . he wants to kill me?” Her eyes were wide, and her voice cracked. 

“Considering what those two guys almost did to you. . . .” He looked at her, into her terrified eyes, and could only nod in response. 

“But why does he want to kill me?” she asked, fear crackling in her throat. “I don't know anyone, I didn't see anything – Katherine harasses them a lot but she really just wants her own clothing line. This has to be some kind of mistake.”

Caine shook his head. “These people don't make those kinds of mistakes,” he said. “If they went to the trouble of hiring someone to find you, they know who and what they want.”

“I can't go to the police,” she whispered. “Please – please don't take me to the police. Please, just let me go home.”

“I've already figured out you're not legal – literally have never seen a less authentic-looking ID,” he said, in that low, calm voice, gesturing to Jupiter's wallet. “But if you go home, they'll follow you there. If they want to hurt you, they will, and they'll also hurt anyone you live with. Do you have a family?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. Mama and Nino. . . . and. . . .”

He watched her a minute, as she tried to collect her thoughts and understand what was happening to her. “I won't take you to the police, Miss Jones, I promise. But I can't take you to Titus – I don't know why he wants you and the fact that his brother's got someone after you, too, is highly suspicious.”

Her hand tightened on the gun. “What are you gonna do to me?”

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he replied. His hands were up again, and there was a hint of desperation in his voice. “Please, Miss Jones-”

“Just call me Jupiter.”

“Jupiter. Please; I have no desire to hurt you.” Caine considered her for a moment, and then put his hands down again. “I know someone in the FBI-”

She looked on the verge of tears as she slammed the gun back down, and held her hands out, palms up, in supplication. “Dumbass! That's the _police!_ That's _worse_ than the police!”

He put his hands back up, as though she were pointing the gun at him again. “He can help me find out what's going on. He can maybe help with immigration, too, when all is said and done.”

“That is a big fat maybe,” she spat, angry all over again. And goddammit, her head hurt.

“Better deported than dead,” he replied. Caine tucked something away in his pocket before walking over to her and crouching down, with his hands up. He slid her phone and wallet over to her, and kept eye contact with her as he retrieved his gun. “Whenever you're ready,” he said gently. “It's almost dawn though, so the sooner the better.”

She put her phone and her wallet away in pockets with shaky hands. She steadied herself on the floor a moment, before trying to rise to her feet. “My head _really_ hurts.”

His expression softened again. “I'm sorry about that. We'll stop somewhere along the way and get you some ibuprofen or something,” he offered. 

“Could you help me up?” she asked, holding out her hands.

He hesitated, and wouldn't look at her. “Um . . . I guess I . . . could.”

Jupiter scowled in irritation. “Look, I don't mean to put you out. It's just that I do have a little blunt force trauma going on in the back of my head, everything still smells like chemicals, and oh – you're kind of _kidnapping me!”_

His eyes went wide as she berated him, and he put his hands up again. “I'm sorry, it's just . . . I don't . . . touch people.”

Her scowl didn't budge. “Your germophobia is the least of my concerns right now.” 

He sighed in resignation. “I'm not afraid of _germs.”_ Then, effortlessly, he gathered her into his arms, bridal-style, and stood. Her nose and his were inches apart, and in the dark it was really hard to see much of anything. But Jupiter thought his look was of genuine concern, which she thought remarkable since they'd met with a gun between them a mere five minutes prior, and she'd done more than a little yelling.

For Caine's part, he held himself has still as possible, his fingers curled gently around Jupiter's ribs and the backs of her knees. “Is this okay?”

It was a moment before she responded. The chemical smell was still in her nose, but whatever Caine wore for cologne masked it a little. “Yeah,” she whispered, looking away. “This works.”

He nodded. “Rest your head on my chest. Keep your head down and your eyes closed,” he advised. “I'm not parked far away.”


	2. Chapter 2

The car was really a spectacular piece of shit, but it was clean and it ran. It was also far less awkward to sit in the passenger seat next to a near-stranger than it was to snuggle into his chest as he stalked through shady Chicago streets, even if she thought he did feel pretty buff.

“What happened?” she asked quietly, watching the scenery go by.

“You're going to have to be more specific than that.”

“While I was out, I mean,” she clarified, and for a brief flash she thought he might actually have a sense of humor. A stone-dry one, but at least it was there. “If those two guys had me, how'd you get me away from them?”

“There was a fight,” he replied. “I don't think they were prepared for that.”

“You fought two people by yourself?”

“I was highly trained in hand-to-hand combat. Little rusty, but it's kind of like riding a bike,” said Caine. “Former military.”

“Yeah? So how'd you get into private investigating?”

Caine tightened his jaw and was silent a long moment. “I wanted to join the FBI after my tour in Afghanistan,” he said eventually. “Didn't work out. This was the next best thing.”

Jupiter nodded slowly and could only guess she'd brought up a touchy subject. “Well. I mean – I'm sorry your career didn't go the direction you'd planned. But I'm glad you were where you were tonight.”

He turned to look at her briefly. “Yeah?”

She nodded, and gave him an encouraging smile before he turned his attention back to the road. “Yeah. Even if I end up in Russia, at least I'll be alive.”

“That where your family's from?”

“Yeah. St. Petersburg. I might have some kind of family there, I don't know. But at least I speak the language,” she finished brightly. “Sort of.”

He chuckled in the seat next to her. They rode quietly on, as the sun rose, and Jupiter texted her mother to make sure she wasn't missed. That was when she noticed she had a nearly full battery.

“You charged my phone.”

Caine paused a moment to look over at her. “Is that okay?”

She smiled, and then turned to him. “That was nice,” she said. “Thank you. For that – and for saving me from . . . whoever those guys were. Hey – how do you know they were working for Titus's brother?”

He shrugged. “They're not all that bright,” he replied. “They referred to him by name.” He smiled when Jupiter chuckled. “Don't need to be a PI to figure that one out.”

Jupiter chuckled a little and turned to look out the window. She had some idea of where they were – the sun hadn't quite risen above the horizon. “How did you find me?”

“Katherine Dunlevy,” he replied.

“She told you I was there?”

“No – you registered on a genealogy website with her name-”

Jupiter's eyes went wide. “Oh, God – is she in danger now?”

Caine held up a hand to calm her. “She should be fine,” he replied. “I'm sure Stinger will send someone to look after her until this is all figured out.”

“Who's Stinger? Is that your FBI friend?”

Caine hesitated. “He's not really a friend; not anymore,” he said cryptically. “But those two aren't looking for Katherine; they know that now. It's you they want.” He looked over at her again, for just a second, and noted her worried eyes. She was chewing on her thumbnail. “Jupiter, I promise we'll get someone to look in on her. Please, don't worry.”

She pulled her thumb away from her lips and nodded. Then she took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Why did you use her name, anyway?”

“Aside from being illegal? I didn't want my mom to know,” she said. “I'm looking for my dad's family. She never knew them – my parents met and married in St. Petersburg; after he died . . . I don't know what happened. She doesn't talk about it. But I want to know.” Jupiter paused, and looked out at the passing scenery again. “All she's ever really said about him is that he loved the stars. He was an astrophysicist. But they had a life – before they met, he had a life, and a family. And I want to know about his life, and what he was like when he was a little boy. I want to know where they are and where they came from. Why they didn't help my mom; why she felt she had to leave. Why I was born in the middle of the Atlantic.” She started chewing her thumbnail again. “Just . . . things I've always wondered. My aunt Nino says she thinks his parents might've been American. And a DNA test is only like a hundred bucks. So I figured it was worth a shot.” She let out a humorless chuckle. “I haven't even gotten my results back yet.”

“Well, someone has them. That's how Titus found you.”

Jupiter groaned. “Christ,” she muttered. All she wanted was to know who she was. So many things had been denied her – wasn't she owed this _one_ thing?

“Listen,” said Caine, and in his voice she could hear an eagerness to soothe, “it's a few hours yet to Peoria, but once we get a little further out of the city I can stop for something for your head. We can get some breakfast, too. How are you feeling?”

“Head just hurts,” she said, and leaned back into the seat. “I think it's getting better, though.”

Caine made a pleased sound, and reached cautiously into the seat behind her to extract a blanket. “Here – why don't you try and rest? I'll wake you when I stop. Maybe an hour?”

“That actually sounds fantastic,” she said, and gratefully spread the blanket over herself. “Thank you.”

She covered her face against the rising sun and closed her eyes, and was soon asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

It was just past eight o'clock when Caine pulled up in front of a relatively nondescript office building. He'd stopped along the way and provided Jupiter with aspirin and water, and engaged her in awkward conversation over pancakes; she slept for the remainder of the drive.

They walked into the little office, Caine holding the door for Jupiter. At the desk was a petite, blonde girl who smiled up at Jupiter. “May I help you?” she asked.

“Um . . . we're here to see . . . who did you say?” Jupiter looked behind her as Caine came through the door.

The girl's face lit up. “Oh my god . . . Caine!”

He smiled a little. “Hey, Kiza. It's good to see you.”

She rose and came around the desk with her arms out. He put his hands up in defense. “Kiza . . . I can't.” She looked as crushed as he did. “I'm sorry.”

The girl, Kiza, looked up at him. Jupiter thought she might be about to protest, but then she seemed to recall that they had an audience. She nodded and said, “Okay. Maybe we'll talk about it later.”

“Maybe,” he said with a nod, and even Jupiter knew they wouldn't.

Kiza's expression was all earnestness. “You look _good_ , Caine – _really_ good.”

He colored. “Thanks, Kiza.”

“Did you want to see Dad?”

“No,” said Caine. “But I need to.”

Kiza nodded again, and reached under the desk to press a button. “Who's your friend?”

“Oh – this is Jupiter Jones,” he said, gesturing. “Jupiter, this is Kiza Apini. She's an old friend.”

The women shook hands. “Used to be his sister in law,” said Kiza. “Are you dating?”

Jupiter's eyes went wide, and she put a hand up. “Oh – oh God, no,” she said, caught off-guard by too much information and too little context. “I mean, I'm not saying . . . I'm just . . . we met like three hours ago.”

The fact that Kiza looked vaguely disappointed only served to confuse Jupiter.

“Oh,” said Kiza. “Well, I-”

“The _fuck_ are you doin' in my office, Wise?” an angry, gravelly voice barked, and Caine turned to face it.

Jupiter watched in confusion as Caine lowered his chin and took a step backward, the same look on his face as when she'd pointed a gun (albeit unloaded) at him. But this time, he looked less like a fearless private detective, and more like an abused dog.

“I need your help,” said Caine.

“Tough shit,” snapped the man, who by Jupiter's estimation was in his late fifties. “You go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and leave my daughter alone. _Both of them_.”

Caine straightened. “Look, I want to be here about as much as you want me to-”

“Then get the fuck out!” he shouted. “Honestly, _who_ do you think you are? I told you I never wanted to see your pathetic goddamn face again, and I _meant_ it!”

Kiza gave a long-suffering sigh. “Really, Dad?”

He made a face at Kiza. “Don't you _sigh_ at me, Kiza. Kallie _just_ started sleeping at night again-”

“That's dramatic, even for Kallie.”

“-and this sonofabitch thinks for one goddamned minute that I'll _help_ him?”

“You know what, Stinger-”

The man turned sharply on Caine, pointing an angry finger. “ _You_ don't get to call me _Stinger_!”

“Fine. _Gordon_ , then. It isn't _me_ that needs your help-”

“Do you think you can just waltz in and out of people's lives?”

“Oh, _Jesus_.” Kiza put her face in her hands.

“After everything you put her through you have got a metric shit-ton of testicular fortitude showin' up here, for _anything_.”

That seemed to get under Caine's hackles, and he finally looked angry. “ _Fuck_ you, Stinger! I paid the price for what I did – they took my wings!”

“I don't give a flyin' fuck _what_ they took. And _don't you_ goddamn call me-”

“Dad!”

The man stopped yelling at the sound of his daughter's voice, and looked over at her. She gestured to Jupiter, and he stared.

“If you're done venting your spleen about something that allegedly happened five years ago, I think Caine came to get help for _her_.”

The man's stare was unsettling. Jupiter tried to ease her own discomfort by smiling. “Hi there,” she said with cheerfulness she didn't feel. “I'm Jupiter Jones.”

“You're Seraphi Abrasax.”

Jupiter looked over at Caine, who looked as confused at the man's declaration as she felt. “Um . . . no. I'm not. I just told you, I'm Jupiter.”

“Sorry,” said the man. “Um . . . I'm Special Agent Gordon Apini with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. You can call me Stinger. Why don't you come on back with me.” He gestured over his shoulder toward the back of the office.

Jupiter walked toward the agent and whispered a thank you to Kiza; she smiled and sat back down at her desk. Stinger looked down at his daughter for a moment. His voice was much gentler than he'd used with Caine. “You need to stop with the _allegedly_ , Kiza,” he said. “We've talked about this before.”

“I know what we talked about,” she replied, without looking at him. “Doesn't change anything.”

Stinger buzzed with agitation but said nothing, and turned to lead Jupiter to his office.


	4. Chapter 4

“So . . . did you say your name is Apini?” she asked as he gestured to the guest chair.

Stinger sat down and nodded. “That's right.”

“Any chance you're related to Kalique Apini?” Jupiter sat down somewhat inelegantly – her head was better, but still sore, and despite all the earlier yelling she was still a little groggy from her nap.

He nodded again, and his gaze shot to Jupiter's left, where Caine was standing. “Oh,” he said. “You mean Mr. Wise didn't fill you in?”

Jupiter glanced behind her to find Caine scowling at Stinger. “No, I sort of had other concerns. Like head trauma.”

The older man's eyebrows raised to his receding hairline. “Really, head trauma? Sounds familiar.”

Caine's scowl turned angry again, and he curled his lips to issue an expletive, but Jupiter cut him off.

“If we could stay on topic?”

Stinger relented. “Kalique – Kallie – is my daughter.”

“See, that's interesting to me, because Kalique is the fashion director for the House of Abrasax. My friend Katherine tweets her all the time, like literally every day, with pictures of my face, and now it appears that her employers are trying to kill and/or kidnap me.”

Stinger tilted his head and relaxed into his chair, as though all of this were routine. “Yeah. And I can tell you why that is, but I think it'd be best if Special Agent Tsing were here – comes in around nine. We've been investigating the House of Abrasax for years.”

“Who's Special Agent Tsing?”

“She's my superior; she's been leading this investigation. I'll need to get a rundown of what's happened so far – starting with you, Wise.”

Stinger didn't invite Caine to sit, so he didn't, but he did go through the details of Titus Abrasax's contact with him, bickering with Stinger occasionally over details.

“What did he say he wanted?”

"He only said it was personal, that I should find her, and _strongly encourage_ her to meet with him – his words, not mine.”

“So he wanted you to bully her into meeting with him.”

“That's not what I said-”

“It's what it means, though; went to the right man for that job.”

“Hey, Gordo – how 'bout you quit bein' a douchecanoe and let me give my fucking statement?”

Jupiter, who'd already heard it, could only refrain from rolling her eyes. Whatever had transpired between Caine and Stinger's daughter was evidently unforgivable, if the animosity and general dickery that Stinger was applying to the situation was anything to go by. She sighed in relief when he finally released the younger man.

“Wise, go make yourself useful and ask Kiza to get Tsing.”

Caine didn't need to be asked twice. Jupiter turned to look up at him somewhat apologetically as he left the room; he gave her a nod, as though to reassure her, and she smiled a little in return.

Jupiter was not one to mince words, so she had no qualms about turning to Stinger as soon as Caine was out of earshot, and repaying a little of the interrogation that he'd just been through.

“Can I just ask . . . why do you hate Caine so much?”

He leaned back in his chair and was quiet for a moment, trying to sum up the young woman across from him. “I _don't_ hate him,” he admitted. “I _do_ pity him. I'm not sure he could help what he did. His upbringing was – well, it was a mess. But I don't wish him any ill will; I just want him to stay away from my family. That's all.” When Jupiter only returned a confused scowl, he clarified. “Surely you've figured out by now that he was married to Kallie.”

“Yeah – easy enough to deduce.”

“Wise was wounded in Afghanistan. She couldn't handle him when he got back – all his medical problems, and . . . PTSD. Not for the faint of heart. I knew it'd be rough, but I thought they could stick it out. Thought they were both made of tougher stuff. And for a while I thought they were getting by. Then one morning I stopped by . . . she was bruised everywhere, and packing her things. Said he'd lost control and he'd been violent with her. She was so terrified, I had to convince her to file charges. He was arrested and court martialed; dishonorably discharged. They took his wings.”

Jupiter's brow knit in confusion. “Yeah, I heard that. What's that mean?”

“He's a pilot,” said Stinger. “Used to be, anyway. You ask me, that's less than he deserved, considering what he did. But at least they won't let men who beat their wives fly multi-million dollar aircraft.”

“You done airin' my dirty laundry, _Gordon_?”

Jupiter and Stinger both jumped and turned at the sudden sound of Caine's voice from the doorway. All at once there was a thick tension in the air, and Jupiter didn't quite know how to interpret the looks that the men were giving each other. On Caine's face the hurt was obvious, but there was anger also, and something along the lines of disgust – whether for Agent Apini or himself, she couldn't guess. On the agent's face was the guilt of being caught telling tales out of school, in addition to his own anger and what Jupiter thought might be lingering betrayal.

“Agent Tsing wants to see you and Miss Jones in the conference room. If you can figure out how to un-dock your laptop without cracking open a manual, she wants you to bring it with you.” He turned sharply and left.

Creditably sheepish, Stinger flicked his eyes in the direction of the door. “I'll, um . . . take you to Tsing.”

“I didn't mean to make anything worse between you,” said Jupiter apologetically as he fumbled with his computer. “Everything's been turned on its side, you know? I just want to know who I'm dealing with, even if you all seem . . . nice.” That last word was a little hard to get out. The new information on Caine aside, he'd been helpful and kind to her. The little she'd experienced of Kiza, she'd been kind. Stinger, she wasn't so sure about.

He shook his head. “Don't worry about it,” he said. “We'll help you get to the bottom of all this. Wise did the right thing, bringing you here.” He rose and gestured to the doorway; she followed his lead.

Special Agent Tsing was tall and beautiful and had kind eyes, and was so clearly, delightfully in charge it almost made Jupiter forget about the lingering pain in the back of her head, the fact that she was hours from home with no real way to get back there, and that someone was likely trying to kill her.

“I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Jones,” was the first thing she'd said to Jupiter. “Is there anything Stinger can get you?”

“Um . . . actually, some water would be great,” Jupiter replied gratefully.

Stinger nodded. “Right. Did this idiot think to feed you?” he asked.

Jupiter could not have explained to anyone, not even herself, why Stinger's constant digs at Caine got under her skin. It was really best to not let it show. But she'd never been much for delicately handling social situations – or any situations, if she were honest – so she narrowed her eyes at Stinger.

“We had pancakes and Advil,” she said. “They were delicious.”

Stinger titled his head and flicked his eyes in Caine's general direction. “Right,” he said. “Just water, then.”

The water was brought (for everyone but Caine, she noticed), and Jupiter walked through her morning one more time with Agent Tsing.

“And Titus didn't give any indication of what he wanted with Miss Jones?”

“No,” said Caine. “Just to meet with her. He said he'd prefer it to be private, but would settle for what he called 'quietly public' – which I'm sure means at the Abrasax building.”

“Have you been in contact with him since finding Miss Jones?”

He shook his head again. “No. But I also don't know if he has someone following me, or some kind of high-tech CSI tracking device on my car or something.”

Stinger sneered at him. “You _do_ know CSI is make-believe, don't you, Wise?”

Caine responded by glaring at Stinger and flipping him the bird.

“If the two of you could put your dicks away for a minute?”

It was comical, really, the way both men immediately straightened in their chairs and turned to face the scowling senior agent. Jupiter managed not to laugh, but she couldn't help a smirk.

“Thank you.” Agent Tsing continued as though there had been no interruption. “Now, Miss Jones, you probably want to know what's going on.”

“That would be _fantastic_ ,” Jupiter replied, and turned her chair to face the agent squarely. “More than Advil and pancakes.”

“I'm sure you know that the House of Abrasax is one of the world's elite fashion houses. For years it was run single-handedly by Seraphi Abrasax. Now, she has two sons, Titus and Balem. Titus is actually adopted, and isn't much more than a model and your typical bad-boy celebrity with the appearance of goodness when it's useful. Balem now runs the business – classic type A, all business, no hint of a life outside the boardroom.”

“Sounds like a charming family,” quipped Juipter, thinking of her own larger, far more complex family.

Tsing nodded. “Likely that you also know that Seraphi was murdered two years ago; she was found strangled in her office, and the case has never been solved. But ever since then, Balem has been widely considered unstable – there are rumors that he's been diagnosed with everything from bipolar disorder to schizophrenia, including a bunch of things I've never heard of – although, _some_ of those rumors began a long time ago, long before his mother died. There've been rumors of other odd goings-on with the Abrasaxes for years.”

“Yeah, there's a ton of that – I clean this one old lady's house and she's always got ET cranked up to like, twelve.”

Tsing smiled a little. “Well, I don't know how true any of it is – but this is what I _do_ know. Balem believes that Seraphi had a child in secret, before she married. She denied it for years, but then when she died and her will was read, Balem and Titus discovered that she'd left the entire operation to her grandchild, who was unnamed. It only said that if DNA evidence could confirm the relationship, ownership would be transferred.”

Jupiter suddenly felt faint. What she knew, paired with what Agent Tsing was telling her, was starting to come together and paint a horrifying picture, even if it was still altogether unclear. “And . . . does he . . . he thinks that's _me_?”

Tsing nodded. “Yes.”

“But if Balem and Titus are both after me . . . you don't think it could be true, do you?”

“I think,” said Tsing cautiously, “that when two people on opposite ends of an argument are leaning toward the same weapon, it doesn't mean anything good.”

Jupiter turned to look at Stinger. “When you first saw me, in the lobby . . . you said I was Seraphi Abrasax.”

She saw his expression soften for the first time since she'd met him. “You really _do_ look an awful lot like Seraphi, when she was younger. Have you ever seen a picture of her?”

“No.”

Tsing tilted her chin at her subordinate. “Do something useful, Apini.”

Stinger cracked open his laptop and pressed a few buttons; after a moment, his desktop was visible on the big monitor on the opposite end of the room. A moment later there was a photograph of what Juipter would've sworn was herself, if she hadn't been quite so certain that she'd never put on as sumptuous a dress as the photo depicted, or that she'd never met David Bowie.

“Wow,” was the best she could muster.

“It isn't a coincidence, Miss Jones,” said Tsing gravely. “A few weeks ago you, registered on a genealogy website called Twenty Three and Me – is that right?”

Jupiter nodded cautiously. “Yes . . . I'm trying to find my dad's family.”

“Balem and Titus have been on a similar hunt. We know they've tapped into every known DNA database. We know this because Balem has been tracking down distant cousins – finding anyone with familial DNA, and researching their family tree.”

“Trying to find that grandchild?”

“Yes.”

Jupiter swallowed. “Um . . . has he found anyone?  Or don’t I want to know?”

“You don’t, but I’ll tell you anyway.  He's found five individuals, all roughly your age. Two men, and three women, all from various locations around the country – that’s how the FBI got involved.  Their bodies were discovered in fields, bound, with their throats cut.  No other markings or injuries, but they all died within hours of being taken.”

“Oh, God.” Jupiter put her hand on her stomach, starting to regret the pancakes. “Oh, God – he really does want to kill me.”

Caine unscrewed the cap on her water bottle and pushed it into her hand; she accepted it gratefully.

“It appears he does.” Tsing's voice was low and apologetic. “Fortunately, Mr. Wise brought you here.”

Jupiter shuddered.  “Monster.”

“I believe,” continued Agent Tsing after an appropriate pause, “if we act quickly, we can resolve this situation. But we'll need your help.”

Jupiter drew in a shaky breath. “I don't know what I'd be able to do,” she replied, and then her eyes went wide as she remembered Katherine. “Oh – _Jesus_ – I almost forgot. Katherine – she might be in danger, those two guys from last night-”

“Apini, get Percadium and Chatterjee on it,” said Tsing crisply. “And have them check on Miss Jones' family, as well.”

Jupiter's stomach dropped. “No! I mean – I. . . .” Her eyes filled, and her breath became shaky again. She looked helplessly over at Caine.

“Miss Jones isn't what you might refer to as documented,” he said. “I imagine her family is in the same predicament.”

Agent Tsing tilted her head. “I see,” was all she said to Jupiter. Then she turned to Stinger. “No details, Apini – keep it as discreet as possible. I know _you_ don't know what that means, but Agent Percadium does.” She ignored Stinger's faint buzz of aggravation, and turned to nod a thank-you at Caine.

Jupiter swiped angrily at the tears that had dribbled down her cheeks, and then shifted her big eyes up to the senior agent. “If you could just . . . leave them alone. My family. I'll help – I'll do whatever you want me to do.”

Agent Tsing was quiet a long moment, as though considering something heavily. “Miss Jones-”

“Look, you really can _just_ call me Jupe,” she said in frustration.

“Jupiter,” said Tsing gently. “I wouldn't ask unless I knew you could help. We have five young men and women who are dead, and their families deserve justice. There's also evidence – not enough yet, but it's there – that Balem killed Seraphi. And, of course, we'd like very much for you to remain alive.”

“Yeah,” said Jupiter, steeling herself. “Yeah, me too. What do you need me to do?”

 


	5. Chapter 5

The undercover operation seemed to be fairly straightforward. Caine would take Jupiter to Titus Abrasax, as he'd promised. Jupiter, armed with a camera and microphone woven invisibly into her hair and under her clothes, would uncover what she could about what Titus knew regarding the murders. Tsing's hope was that it would give them enough information to obtain search warrants, which they hadn't yet been able to do.

“Any kind of information is useful – if we can get in anywhere, we can wedge our way into what we really want to look at. Literally any lead could be the one thing we need.”

“Right,” said Jupiter, feeling now like she was watching the whole thing from outside her own skin. She was with Stinger now, back in his office, going over some basics of the operation – what to say and avoid saying, what her story was going to be, how to call for help should she need it.

She'd be monitored the whole time. She wouldn't be very far from an FBI agent at any given point.

So why did she feel like she was going to throw up?

“Listen, Jones,” said Stinger, “you’re going to be all right.  You just have to keep it together for a little while longer.  Once we have what we need to put Balem away, you can go back to your life and forget you ever met us.”

Jupiter nodded.  The crazy thing was, as much as she’d hated her life under her uncle’s thumb, scrubbing toilets and playing dress-up with Katherine, that was all she wanted at the moment.  She didn’t get along with Vassily but at least he didn’t want to kill her – not literally anyway.  It wasn’t perfect but it was simple and honest, and she had people who cared about her – her mother was most prominently in her mind at the moment.  She didn’t know what she’d do, how she’d explain, that her need to know who she was turned out to be more important than their anonymity and safety, and as a result they were all going to be deported.

She hoped like hell that Tsing was sympathetic, and wouldn’t go after Aleksa and Nino.  Jupiter didn’t know what would happen to her – she didn’t belong in Russia, either, having been born at sea.  Would she be forced to float like this her whole life, never belonging anywhere, never really knowing half of her own story?

When Stinger finished briefing her, he led her out into the lobby.  It was quiet and bright there and he sensed that she needed some sun.  Plus Kiza would be cheerful – hell, even when she was taking a hunk out of his ass for doing something stupid, she was cheerful.

Wise was in the lobby, standing a respectable distance away, smiling – as much as he ever smiled – at Kiza as they chatted about Kiza’s bees.  She’d always loved them as a child, so a few years ago, with a snide comment tossed Kallie’s way about beekeeping being the next best thing to being an aunt, for which she now had no hope, she built her first hive. 

Jones seemed soft on Wise, which Stinger couldn’t understand, considering how explicit he’d been about everything.  But maybe he’d been  _too_  explicit, and although she didn’t really seem the type, maybe Jones was one of those women who’d forgive any asshole who smiled sideways at them.

He sighed.  It really wasn’t any of his business.  All he needed to do was keep Jones alive; that was his job.  Once she was out of danger, he’d never have to look at either of them sideways again – and if she wanted to get involved with an angry drunk, that was her choice. 

“Wise,” he said sharply, “let’s go have a look at your car and make sure it’s not bugged.”

Caine nodded at Kiza, and Stinger hated the affectionate longing he saw there.  Wise had always been too easy to read.  The older man sighed as he followed the younger man outside.

Kiza watched as Jupiter's eyes lingered on Caine, and smiled over at her.  “You sure you’re not dating Caine?”

Jupiter allowed a little smile, embarrassed for letting her eyes wander.  “Yeah.  It still only been, what?  Twelve, maybe thirteen hours?”

The younger woman sat down behind her desk.  “Not unheard of,” she said.

Jupiter walked over, leaning against the raised section of the desk.  “You know, this whole thing is weird, so . . . I’m just gonna take off the filter for a minute.”

"Okay.”

“It’s a little messed up that you seem to be encouraging me to date your sister’s ex-husband.”

"Why’s that?” asked Kiza, with a curious tilt of the head.

“Well . . . according to your dad, and Caine himself, it doesn’t sound like he treated her very well.”

Kiza sighed.  “Listen, all I can really tell you is that Kallie brought Caine home and I’d never met anyone who needed a family as much as he does.  So we gave him one and he treated us like glass – all three of us.  We were precious and fragile to him. He'd have done anything for any one of us.  I know that PTSD can change a person; that’s what Dad keeps saying, that Caine left and someone else came back in his place.  But I don’t see it.”

"You don’t think he’s different?”

"He _is_ different,” Kiza conceded.  “But it’s not like he’s mean now, or something.  It’s like . . . he reverted.  Back to the person he was before Kallie met him, and brought him home.  Only now it’s . . . worse.  More intense.”  She shook her head and looked up at Jupiter.  “She gave him a family, something he'd never had before, and then she took it away.  He doesn’t think he deserves one.  His trust in himself was tenuous before, and now . . . it just doesn’t exist.”

“Is that why he won’t touch people?”

Kiza nodded.  “It’s sad.  He used to give the best hugs.”

Jupiter gave her a sad smile.  “She gave you a brother,” she surmised.  “And then she took him away.”

“He took himself away, really,” said Kiza.  “It’s just . . . he had help.”

“You don’t think he hurt Kallie?”

“I don't think he could hit anyone unless he had to. He’s guilty of drinking, and he’s guilty of taking too much oxy, and he got angry with Kallie and yelled at her. But I also watched her berate him more than once for things he couldn't control.  I just think it’s highly suspicious.  Besides, the _minute_ he was deployed, she got involved-”

Kiza’s mouth snapped shut when Caine’s figure appeared in the doorway again.  When he walked through she shifted her eyes back to Jupiter and smiled.  “Did you want a cup of coffee?”

Jupiter smiled.  “That actually sounds fantastic.  Thanks.”

Kiza raised her eyebrows at Caine; he declined with a shake of the head.  When she’d disappeared into the back, he looked over at Jupiter.  “Gettin' to know Kiza?”

“A little,” she replied.  “Getting to know you, too.”

He colored a little, and looked uncomfortable. “Well.  Kiza’s at least fair.”

She smiled up at him.  “Yeah, she seems pretty level headed.”

"She’s always been that way.  Except sometimes, she’s too generous.”

“I think you might be too hard on yourself,” said Jupiter, who could easily guess that that sentence ended with the words _with me_ in his head.

“If you say so,” he replied.

She shot a furtive glance at Kiza, who just shook his head. They were interrupted by Stinger then, who declared Caine's car free of any kind of tracking device.

“And any kind of dignity,” he added. “Looks like you've slept in it.”

“That's because I _have_ ,” snapped Caine, baring his teeth a little.

Fortunately it didn't take long for the implications of that to sink into Stinger's head, and he shook his head. “Jesus, kid.”

“I'm not entirely sure what you were expecting – it's not like there are a lot of employment opportunities available for dishonorably discharged veterans.”

“Right – right – I'll knock it off,” he mumbled, looking away.

“Well – now that Agent Apini has made everything nice and awkward,” came Tsing's voice from behind Kiza, “I think it's about time everyone headed out. If we're going to install ourselves in the Abrasax building in time for Miss Jones' meeting with Titus tomorrow morning, we need to assemble the rest of the team and get moving. Mr. Wise?”

He snapped to attention, giving Juipter a glimpse of Caine Wise the soldier. “Yes, ma'am?”

“You have your instructions.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You've contacted Titus?”

He nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”

She mimicked him. “Agent Nesh will join you and Miss Jones at your apartment tomorrow morning to get wires in place. You have everything you need?”

Caine scowled a little. “I'm sorry – who will be bringing Miss Jones to my apartment?”

“You will – she'll be staying with you tonight.”

Caine's eyebrows shot up so high they almost collided with his hairline, and he turned to Jupiter. “Why?”

“Your task was to retrieve Miss Jones,” explained Agent Tsing. “You said Titus didn't give you any money up front; how would an otherwise unemployed private investigator afford other accommodations?”

He lifted a shoulder to shrug, but couldn't come up with a reply. He caught Jupiter's eye, but she didn't appear bothered by the notion.

“You've got a couch, I presume?”

Caine turned back to Agent Tsing. “Yes – yeah, it's . . . it's fine.” He cleared his throat. “It'll be fine.”

“Good.” The agent nodded cheerily. “We'll see you all tomorrow morning, then.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

The evening went by in a kind of faint daze for Caine. It wasn't that he didn't like Jupiter – he liked her very much. Too much, for having known her less than twenty-four hours. He'd fought with himself every moment in her presence, since he'd picked her up, unconscious, from the concrete outside Katherine Dunlevy's apartment: not to reach for her hand in the car; not to put a guiding hand on her lower back walking into the pancake house; not to feather his fingers into her hair and hold her close when Captain Tsing first asked for her help. Carrying her from the abandoned house downtown to his car had been difficult. Having her in his shitty little apartment, where her scent would linger, was going to be torture.

They stopped at a Target on the way back to Chicago, where Caine lived, so Jupiter could pick up some fresh clothes. Once they reached his apartment, he paused at the door.

“Would you mind if I just tidied up a little?” he asked.

“Oh – I'm sure it's not so bad. I clean houses for a living, remember. I've seen it all.” She smiled, trying to put him at ease, but it didn't work.

“I'm just going to tidy up a minute.” He opened the door, and left her and her Target bag outside. Jupiter wondered what he could possibly have laying around that he didn't want her to see, and then considered how long she'd known him, and chose not to think about it any longer.

Five minutes later he'd opened the door for her. It really was tiny – not much more than a space for a couch, a table, and the smallest kitchen Jupiter had ever seen. “Cozy,” she said brightly.

“It's a shithole,” he replied frankly.

“It's clean,” she replied, turning to face him. “Very tidy. And I've still seen worse.”

He smiled a little, and gestured to a little hallway. “The bathroom is the door on the right. My bedroom's on the left.” He cleared his throat and paused, looking uncertain when he continued. “I would . . . I would really appreciate it if you didn't go into it.”

Jupiter had absolutely no idea what to think of that request, except that it threw up a giant red flag. Logically she had no reason to believe there was anything in that room except his privacy, which he probably cherished. But Jupiter lived in a house full to bursting with people, and she knew secrets never led to anything good. Maybe Stinger had a good reason to treat him like he did.

She nodded, disquieted. “No – of course not. I mean, this wasn't exactly your choice.”

He apparently didn't want to discuss it any further, however. “Are you hungry?”

Jupiter was, and she changed into pajamas, brushed her hair, and washed her face in the little bathroom while he cooked. He presented the spaghetti to her, as neatly as anything else she'd seen him touch. He waited for her to start before he picked up his fork.

Now that she'd had an opportunity to rest, and wash, and eat, her head wouldn't quiet down. She'd learned a lot, in the space of a day, and though she thought she'd wanted to know where she'd come from all those weeks ago when she spit into a vial and mailed it off, with Katherine's name on the box, maybe she didn't. If these people were as messed up as they seemed to be, any kind of inheritance aside, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

And she liked Caine – he'd been more than just kind to her, he'd taken care of her – but what did she know about him, really? Anyone, given the right motivation, could be pleasing, even to those they didn't like.

She was startled when Caine spoke, his voice was low and encouraging. “What's on your mind, Jupiter?”

She put her fork down and met his eyes, drawing a deep breath in and then back out again. “I’m sorry, but . . . Stinger said that you . . . hit your wife.”

Caine's curious scowl turned hard in an instant. “Gordon talks too much.”

“I know it’s none of my business, but . . . I don’t exactly know who to trust.  I’m just afraid, for myself and my family, and I want to understand.”

His eyes softened, and he put his hands in his lap. “Look, the truth is, I don’t know what happened.  I don’t remember doing it.”  He looked away, shaking his head.  “I got back from Afghanistan and . . . everything was upside down.  Nothing was right anymore, not even Kallie.  She always wanted to be taken care of . . . and suddenly she was taking care of me.  And I knew she hated it but there was nothing I could do.  And I was on so many medications, and. . . .”  He drew a deep breath and seemed to realize he was rambling.  He shook his head, and then looked at her again.  “And the drinking didn’t help.  So.  I don’t remember ever hitting her.  Doesn’t mean I didn’t, because I don’t remember much of anything.  I’d love to be able to tell you that I’m not dangerous, but I don’t know that.  My head’s all kinds of screwed up.  If you’re worried, you can keep in mind that Stinger knows where you are. Wouldn't surprise me if he had a bug in here somewhere.”

Jupiter, feeling rather like she’d intruded into something she shouldn’t have, nodded and quietly replied, “Okay.”

“For what it’s worth?”

She turned her face up to his and raised her eyebrows in curiosity.

"Outside the military, I never hit anyone before, or since.  And I don’t drink anymore, either.”

She bit her lower lip.  “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

In the morning Caine was up well before her, and handed her a cup of coffee when she got out of the shower. That was a novel experience – she was usually the one handing off he coffee. It made her smile; Caine's shy smirk in return made her stomach turn over, which felt exactly right and exactly wrong at the same time.

The knock at the door startled her – she'd forgotten about Agent Nesh.

The wires seemed high tech, being woven invisibly into her hair, although Nesh mumbled about budget cuts trying to configure them just right. When he was satisfied, Caine and Jupiter climbed into his car and made the trip into downtown Chicago to meet Titus Abrasax.

As soon as they approached the imposing building, all made of glass and sharp angles, Jupiter heard Stinger in her ear, where a wireless device that looked like tiny hearing aid was settled.

_“Good morning, Jones,”_ came the greeting. _“How are you feeling?”_

She stopped and looked around. “Um. Fine – where are you?”

_“None of your business,”_ came Tsing's cheerful, no-nonsense response. _“We can hear you, you can hear us. Now have a look at Mr. Wise, please.”_

Jupiter sought him out, and heard Tsing's satisfied voice again. _“Good,”_ she said. _“Off you go. Don't worry – we've got you covered.”_

Butterflies making an uproar in her stomach, she nodded, and continued forward with Caine. “Right. Right. I'm covered.”

Caine fell into step beside her. “You look like I did right before the first time I flew,” he said.

“How did you fly like this?” she wondered. “Dizzy and nauseous and ready to just fall over?”

“I had a co-pilot I trusted,” he replied.

She stopped again, and looked him over. After a few deep breaths, she nodded. “Okay,” she whispered. “I trust you.”

“Just for _this_ ,” came Stinger's disgusted voice.

Jupiter wished he could see her scowl. “Quit bein' a _dick_ , Stinger.” Tsing chuckled openly, and Jupiter hoped they'd both caught the smile that ghosted across Caine's face before hey continued to the building.

 

* * *

 

Titus Abrasax's offices in the building were, of course, on the top floor, across from his brother's. They were ridiculously sumptuous in décor, everything looking soft and sweet. His assistant, astonishingly tall and even more astonishingly beautiful, ignored Caine, introduced herself as Mia Famulus, and instantly wanted to dress Jupiter.

“I apologize that this wasn't explained to you earlier, Miss Dunlevy. Mr. Abrasax requests all of his guests to be as fashionably dressed as he is – in order to remove any distinction of rank, of course. He believes in equality in all things. Was that a snort of derision, Mr. Wise?”

“If the shoe fits,” he deadpanned.

She gave him an unimpressed smirk. “We'll be in touch. I know you're desperate for your payment, but it'll come in due time.” She went back to ignoring Caine, linking her arm through Jupiter's. “I've got just the thing for you, if you'll come with me.”

Jupiter could only give a furtive backward glance at Caine before she was led away.

In less time than she'd thought possible, she was put into a dress that probably had a price tag higher than Vassily's house. It was all metal and leather with a high collar and apparently pointless buckles. The shoes were little more than tiny torture devices. She'd had to insist, several times, that her hair be left alone.

“You look good enough to eat, Miss Dunlevy,” she declared with a wink and a smirk that made Jupiter uncomfortable. “I'll take you to Mr. Abrasax now.”

And in what seemed like a blink of an eye she was standing in a spacious office, all windows and pillows and no apparent function, and Titus Abrasax was standing in front of her. He was, by Juipter's estimation, in his mid-forties, pampered, and beautiful. And barefoot.

“Thank you, Miss Famulus,” he said, without looking at his assistant. “I'm not to be disturbed.”

“Of course,” she replied with a little bow of her head. And with a click of the door, only Titus and Jupiter remained in the room.

“Have you ever been told that you bear a striking resemblance to my mother?”

“Only recently,” said Jupiter, and she heard the same fear and uncertainty in her voice that she'd heard the first time she spoke to Caine.

Titus smiled at her. “I apologize – it's really quite astonishing, but no excuse for poor manners. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Titus Abrasax, Vice President of the House of Abrasax.” He held out his hand.

She took it. “Katherine Dunlevy.”

He chuckled, and pulled her closer using the hand he held. “Oh, no,” he said. “I know who you are, Jupiter Jones.”

A chill of fear went up her spine. Faintly, she heard an expletive in her ear, and then Tsing's voice. _“Remain calm, Jones.”_

“How do you know that?”

“Mr. Wise isn't the only private investigator in the world. But don't worry – I know you're just trying to find your father's family. Your friend Katherine was very generous to let you borrow her identity.”

Jupiter swallowed. “Did you . . . speak to Katherine?”

“Oh – we spoke,” he replied. “Revealing the . . . nature of our conversation would be telling tales out of school. Suffice it to say the conversations ended in mutual satisfaction.”

“She wants her own clothing line.”

“And she'll get it – I promised her, and I'm a man of my word,” said Titus. “She's really quite talented. Now, I am a very busy man, and I have a proposition for you. Will you come with me?”

Jupiter had no choice but to follow as he led her out of his office and into the hall. On the opposite side of the elevator bank there were two sets of doors, and he pointed them out, still holding Jupiter's hand.

“Those are Balem's offices,” he said, gesturing. “He runs the business side of things – taxes, regulations, the boring stuff. What this entire enterprise is really all about is behind these doors.” And he opened them with a flourish.

Jupiter knew that he was intentionally trying to dazzle her. And she also knew that he was doing an excellent job. Because behind those doors were racks upon racks of beautiful clothes – evening and bridal gowns, menswear, shoes, and accessories.

“These are the pieces under consideration for our next collections. You've heard the phrase, _'When you look good, you feel good,'_ I'm sure?”

“Oh . . . yes,” she replied. “Practically Katherine's motto.”

“That's what this business is about. Balem finds it tedious, and says these things are fripperies, but in his heart he knows it, too. The fashion industry allows individuals to express themselves by doing what everyone has to do anyway – get dressed.” He drew closer to Jupiter, who'd started wandering the room, running her hands over everything.

“My mother Seraphi knew it. She made a trip to St. Petersburg to explore the possibilities.”

That stopped Jupiter cold. She lifted her eyes off the purple silk satin gown she was holding, and she stared at Titus.

“She met a man there called Edward Jones. He was an English diplomat, and if you'll pardon the expression, Miss Jones, they did a lot of exploring together. I believe he fell in love.”

“ _Don't be stupid, Jones – keep him on track,”_ was in her ear.

Jupiter inched closer to Titus. “Lots of English people are named Jones – that doesn't mean anything.”

“My mother was only really ever in love with her business,” continued Titus. “She became pregnant, and stayed in St. Petersburg until the baby was born, but she left them both. Edward was, of course, heartbroken. His mother raised the baby – a boy.” Titus gave her a self-satisfied smile. “Named Maximilian.”

“Maximilian Jones is my father.”

“ _Jones-”_

She tuned out Stinger.

“Which means Seraphi Abrasax is your grandmother. Your DNA is proof.”

That grabbed the rational part of her head again. “Where did you get my DNA?”

Titus rolled his eyes. “Those web sites are ridiculously easy to hack, when you know who to employ,” he said. “I assure you, however, I mean you no harm. I have a proposition for you.”

She tilted her head. “What is it?”

“Well, this is all very basic, but – essentially, you are a woman without a country. You're not in the US legally, but you can't be anywhere legally. I'm a man who wants to maintain control of a business that's been growing colder since the day my poor mother was murdered. In her will she left provisions to leave the business to you, but of course without any identification, you can't claim it.”

“So . . . what are you suggesting?”

“Marriage, of course!” he declared. “You get your green card and a business – all I want is to maintain control of the creative integrity of what my mother began. Our marriage – which, I assure you, wouldn't have to be a marriage in anything but the legal sense – would put the business into the hands of someone who really cares about Mother's legacy. And that,” he finished dramatically, “is all I've ever cared about.”

“But . . . isn't that illegal?”

He gave her what she could only describe as a slippery smile. “Of course it is. But you'll soon learn,” he said, his voice silken, “that as an Abrasax, legal tends to be . . . fluid.”

Jupiter was very uncomfortable, particularly with the way Titus was leering at her, and she needed to get away from him. Fortunately, Tsing was in her ear again.

“ _He's admitted to hacking private data, and we can get him on conspiracy to commit fraud,” she said. “To be clear, that's_ incredibly _illegal, as attractive as it might be. Find an out, Jones.”_

“Um . . . I mean, it sounds . . . like everything I've ever wanted,” she said honestly. “A country, and financial security.”

“We'd be brilliant partners, Jupiter.”

“But wait – aren't you my uncle?”

He guffawed, and somehow managed to do it eloquently. “Technically only,” he replied. “Seraphi adopted me from an orphanage in Moscow.” He brightened. “We're kindred Russian spirits, you and I.”

The man standing in front of her was the furthest thing from Russian, even Americanized Russian, that Jupiter had ever seen. The suggestion that he could claim any kind of ownership of a culture that she held near and dear to her heart made her spine shiver again.

“Can I think about it?” she asked. “Maybe see some more of what you do? I just want to understand.”

“ _She's brilliant.”_

“ _She probably knows that.”_

Titus sized her up with a long look, and winked at her. “Yes, of course – and I know just the person to introduce you to.” He zoomed around the room, and seemed to know exactly what he was looking for. “Your current ensemble is a bit much for her, however – we'll have to tone it down a bit.” He held out another dress and a pair of shoes with a smile of satisfaction.

Jupiter could only shake her head a little, and accept them.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Once Juipter had put the new clothes on – which she was allowed to do, mercifully, by herself – Titus was waiting for her. “You look lovely, of course,” he said.

“Toned down” was a skin-tight white dress with red flowers, which fell just above her knees and showed off her collarbones quite nicely. The shoes were far more sensible, and actually, Jupiter liked it, and told Titus as much.

“I'll take you downstairs – it's not far.” He held out his arm, and she took it with a smile.

Jupiter knew she looked good. She might've had a hand in curbing some significantly illegal activities. For the first time since any of this started, she felt good, too.

She was shown into a large open room where there appeared to be a fashion show going on, execpt that the pieces weren't all quite put together. The models walking the floor hadn't any makeup on, and their hair didn't appear to have been professionally done. But maybe that was all part of the look? Jupiter honestly didn't know.

Titus led her to a tall woman with dark curly hair and bright eyes, who was just as beautiful as Mia Famulus. When she smiled at Titus it was clear to Jupiter who she was – that was Kiza's smile – and that she and Titus knew each other, in the biblical sense.

“Katherine Dunlevy,” he said with a wink at Jupiter, “it's my pleasure to introduce Kalique Apini; she's the fashion director here at the House of Abrasax.” He waited while the women shook hands, and then Titus turned to Kalique. “We were just exploring that business opportunity you and I discussed. Miss Dunlevy wanted to see more of the operation.”

Kalique's smile continued to be appeasing and bright, and she took Jupiter's hands in hers familiarly. “I'd be delighted, of course,” she said. “We were just about to take a break, but that shouldn't last long. You and I can get caught up with what we're doing here today.”

In her ear, Jupiter heard a firm, _She'll be questioned,_ followed by an uncomfortable _I understand._ She actually felt bad for Stinger.

“I leave you in Kalique's capable hands, then,” said Titus. He kissed Jupiter's knuckles, winked, and walked away.

Kalique chattered excitedly for a moment about new collections and previews and a lot of other words that Jupiter assumed were industry specific and did not understand. While the models left the room, Kalique led Jupiter over to a service table and offered coffee, and then they settled at a little table. 

Jupiter could not help herself. “So . . . are you married, Kalique?”

“Happily divorced,” she replied, and sipped her coffee. “And yourself? I know you're not married – business venture with Titus, of course – but do you have a boyfriend?”

“No,” replied Jupiter with a smile.  “I kind of have a thing for military men, though.”

“Some advice for you,” said Kalique loftily. “Stay the hell away from military men.”

“ _Jones, goddammit, those are not waters you want to test.”_

Jupiter backed down at the sound of Tsing's voice. She was right – she wasn't here to talk about Caine, she was here to help keep herself alive. Besides, she really didn’t want to hear any details about what Caine had done, so she just nodded.  “I'll take it under advisement.”

“Seriously,” continued Kalique.  “I brought home any number of boyfriends and my dad hated them all.  Couldn’t get him on board with anyone.  Then I bring home an Air Force pilot.  Now, he was cute and looked great in a uniform, but that was about all he had going for him.  Not a lot of personality.  But my dad loved him, and he was _devoted_ to me.  So I thought – well, I can work with this.  There are worse things in a partner than being a little on the boring side – besides, the sex was  _ahh-maaazing_.”  She paused to wink at Jupiter, and sipped her latte.  “So we got married and everything was just fine.  And then he got deployed to Afghanistan, where he crashed his helicopter into a mountain.”

“Oh – I’m so sorry,” she replied.  Jupiter was vaguely impressed with herself for remembering that she was not supposed to know anything about Kalique or her ex-husband.

Kalique rolled her eyes.  “He came home,” she said.  “Two other people in the chopper didn’t.  By the time he got to me he was so screwed up – in the head and otherwise – I didn’t recognize him.”

“ _Try and make her shut up, Jones.”_

Jupiter really wasn’t sure what to say.  She felt awful for everyone involved – the other soldiers and their families, for Kalique and Caine, and for Stinger, too.

“He wasn’t my cute pilot anymore.”

But maybe, a little less sorry for Kalique.

“Well – at that point, leaving was out of the question.  You don’t leave a veteran, especially when they still can’t walk. I mean, can you _imagine_ the press? But he was just . . . I don’t know.  All I knew was, no one could fix him and he’d never be my cute boring pilot again.  It was a blessing when he started drinking.  That was my out.”

If Jupiter was at a loss for words before, she was positively dumbstruck now.   _If it’s not okay to leave a veteran when he’s injured, how’s it okay to leave him when he’s still injured and has developed a drinking problem?_

“He was _so_ out of it.  All the time.  The lucky thing was, one night I was working late, and Titus was around.  It’s no secret that Titus and Balem get on each other’s nerves, or that Titus will dally with whatever catches his fancy.  So Titus and I were – you know – _dallying_ – and Titus likes it rough – choking and bruised hips and the whole nine yards.  Well, his brother walked in on us.  He’s not the most stable of people – suffice it to say that there was a fight and I was in the middle of it.”

“ _Titus_  hit you?”

Kalique, completely unperturbed, shifted in her seat and sipped her coffee. “Like I said, I was in the middle of it.  I think they both did.  Not on purpose, but the damage was done.  Anyway, when I got home Caine was out of it, completely.  When he woke up he thought _he’d_ given me the bruises and the black eye.  And I let him.”

Jupiter felt the color drain from her face; the silence in her ear was deafening. 

Kalique chuckled.  “I also let him believe it had been going on for a while.  I wasn’t all that comfortable with his arrest, but frankly he wasn’t going to fly again anyway.  Not for the Air Force. The beautiful thing was, _he_ filed for divorce, not me.”

Kalique looked up at Jupiter, who could not bring herself to wipe the horrified expression from her face.   _But he was dishonorably discharged,_ her head screamed.  _He couldn’t get a job.  He won’t touch anyone._

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” Kalique said with a dismissive smile.  “He’s fine now.  Far as I know, anyway.” 

Jupiter forced a smile, and excused herself to find a restroom, walking away stunned.

* * *

In a disused electrical closet somewhere on the fourth floor, there was silence. A long, uncomfortable one. Caine stood with his arms crossed and his eyes closed, drawing in purposeful, steady breaths. Stinger sat back and pulled his earpiece out, rubbing his forehead. Agent Tsing looked back and forth between them for a moment.

“I'll give you a moment. Just one. Keep your shit together.”

“Yes, ma'am,” replied Stinger, a barely-audible rumble as she passed him by.

When the door clicked closed, he drew in a breath. “Caine-”

“Don't, Stinger.” His voice was more gentle than the older man expected. “I would've done the same thing.”

“I love my daughter, Caine.” He sounded, even to his own ears, like he was reminding himself.

“I know.” He swallowed and turned around, and looked Stinger in the eye. “I never wanted to be a burden to her, or anyone else.”

Stinger rose and faced Caine, and smiled a little bit. “You know what your problem is, Wise? You think your _existence_ is a burden – you always have, even before you were deployed. It's like someone told you when you were a kid that you were a nothing but a fuckup, and you had nothing else to go on so that's what you think of yourself. No one believed you were guilty of beating up your wife more than _you_ did.” He shrugged a little. “Made it real easy for everyone else to believe it, too.”

“I was miserable,” Caine whispered. “Useless. I couldn't take care of myself. I couldn't . . . _live_ with myself. I was so angry. I couldn't get Razo or Ibis's faces out of my head. They were good airmen.”

Stinger was silent for a moment, looking over him. “You don't seem angry.”

“I'm not,” Caine readily replied. “I'm _not_. Stinger, I'm _relieved_.”

“You didn't hurt her.”

Caine let out a breath, and his shoulders relaxed, as though the weight he'd been carrying for the last five years had been physical, and he'd finally been relieved of it. “I didn't _hit_ her. Not being anywhere near conscious when I got back hurt her.”

Stinger shook his head. “Kallie knew what she was getting into when she married you. I wish she'd have seen past the good press of dating a soldier, and the glamour of a pretty uniform, but . . . I suppose her mother was like that, too. But you saved people's lives when your helicopter was hit, Caine – American lives, and Afghan lives. And you're in this thing with me right now because you know you can save another one.” He pointed to the laptop to his left, and Caine looked at it.

To their horror, the image was perfectly still.

“Shit. _Shit!_ ” Stinger put his earpiece back in and started talking to Jupiter. “Jones, where are you? Answer me! Jones!”

“Stinger, where is she?”

“I don't know – looks like the camera is on the sidewalk. Get Tsing!”

But Agent Tsing didn't need to be retrieved; Stinger's panicked shouts had already drawn her attention, and she burst into the room. “What is going on? Where's Jones?”

“I don't know,” he replied, and tried again to get Jupiter's attention, but it was in vain.

“We will discuss what happened later, Apini – for right now, you start tracking every lead we have. Every GPS we've ever put on anything, I want to see on this screen. Right. Now.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied, and his fingers started working like Caine had never seen before.

Unable to do anything, Caine stepped back as Stinger worked the technology and Tsing started contacting other agents. But his head was spinning, working out what could've happened. Stinger had pulled his earpiece out, but his was still in, and he hadn't heard anything. Which meant that communications were cut purposefully, probably methodically, and definitely forcefully.

“Play it back,” he found himself saying. “Play back the video – where did she go after she left Kallie?”

Stinger had it queued up and ready, and they watched. There was a lot of hallway, and Jupiter's mumbled curses. _Never met so many fucked up people in my life_ was interspersed with vague grunts of _ugh_ , and there was a lot of _fuck fuck fuck_.

And then there was a stairwell – Jupiter, at this point, seemed to be alone, and wandering of her own volition.

“The hell is she going?” muttered Tsing.

“Look _up_ Jones . . . look _up_.” All they could see was stairs, as Jupiter descended. After several flights, she looked up to open the stairwell door. Mercifully, there was a number there – she was on the ground floor, on a little deck. She leaned against the railing and drew a deep breath, and looked around. There didn't appear to be anyone else there.

And then Jupiter gave a surprised gasp, and turned her head a fraction. Her hand went up, presumably to the back of her head. There was a dark flicker, and grunting, and stuttered breathing, all of it barely audible. The recording shook as Jupiter struggled against something. Then the camera panned down slowly, until all that was visible were Jupiter's feet, and the concrete of the deck.

Then there was jostling as the camera was removed from her hair, and dropped on the ground.

“What flashed in front of the camera?” asked Tsing. “Go back to that.”

But Caine had an answer ready for her. “A cloth,” he replied. “Soaked in chloroform. Balem's got her. I'm going down there.” He reached for his gun to check the clip.

“No, you're not – you'll let us handle this,” said Tsing. “Don't get involved, you're a civilian and you have no idea-”

“All due respect, Agent Tsing, I don't work for you,” he replied. Then he turned to Stinger. “Give me your clip.”

“ _Don't_ give him your clip, Apini.”

“Give it.”

Stinger looked up at Tsing, and reached for his gun. “We'll disable security on all the doors,” he said. “Go get her.” He removed the clip and handed it to Caine.

* * *

Caine had never been more grateful that he'd been advised to stay in shape. With his exile from the military it no longer seemed necessary to worry about his physical condition, once he could walk again and was released from physical therapy. But his sponsor in AA encouraged him to go back to the gym, as hard as it was. He needed an outlet. It would help keep him sober.

Which was true, it had, but it had also helped prepare him for running after Jupiter Jones – down long hallways and multiple flights of stairs, which were torture on his legs. For the life of him he could not pinpoint why he was running, and running so _hard_ , why he'd ignored an order from a law enforcement officer, or why his heart was in his throat. He'd known Jupiter for two days. _Two days_. He shouldn't care this much . . . but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

When he reached the deck from which Jupiter had been taken, he looked around. There was the door he'd come out of, which was clearly a door for public use, but next to it was another door, painted the same color as the outside wall of the building, clearly meant only for maintenance personnel. It was propped open.

As painful as it had been to run down all those stairs, it was more painful to run up them, but Caine hardly felt it. He tried hard to remember where Balem's office was from the map of the building he'd seen earlier, but could only recall that it was on the top.

So to the top, he went.

When he got there, he could hear a chillingly calm voice speaking. “You'll sign this document, right now,” it said. “You falsified identification documents and provided a DNA sample that was not your own. You are not Seraphi Abrasax's grandchild, you make no claim of the kind, and you are not fit to run a business you only know how to clean.”

Peeking around a corner, Caine could see, in the large office, that Jupiter was being held by a man easily twice her size, with a second and a third behind him. The other person in the office, who held an iPad out to her, could only be Balem Abrasax.

“I don't want your stupid business,” Jupiter spat, obviously angry but also groggy. “You can't take my heritage from me.”

“If you have no interest in the business,” came Balem's reply, his voice just as smooth as Titus', but colder, “then it should be no problem to simply sign the document. You can walk out of here, and never think of this again.”

“I've heard that one already,” said Jupiter. “Don't think it's gonna happen. Don't trust you or your brother.”

“Titus is not my brother!” shouted Balem. He turned away a moment, and then back; his voice was calmer. “He's my mother's pet project. She felt sorry for him in Moscow because he was pretty. That's all he's ever been. I run this business – I alone. No one is going to take that from me.”

“Someb'dy already try to do that, hm?” asked Jupiter. “Mommy-dearest, maybe? That why you killed her?”

Balem's hand hit her cheek so hard and fast that Caine blinked. “How _dare_ you?!” he roared. “I . . . _loved_ my mother.”

It had been a while since Caine had fired a handgun, but he started to survey the three of them to see if he could get one good clean shot in. Jupiter just needed to keep talking.

“You tracked down a bunch of people looking for me,” she said, unmoved in her likely concussed state by his shouting. “They loved their mothers, too.”

“Collateral damage,” he spat. “Most people are miserable in their lives; ending that misery was a kindness.”

Jupiter laughed. “You are – literally – the most fucked up person I have ever met. And that is _saying_ something.”

“You'll sign that document,” he said coldly. “Or I'll end you.”

“That what you said to your mom?”

Balem moved so close to Jupiter that their noses were little more than a breath away. Caine could not possibly fire a weapon without risk to Jupiter.

“My mother looked around at the end of her life, at all the beauty she'd created, all the profit she'd made, and saw emptiness. She was just like the others – miserable. She _wanted_ to die. I simply facilitated her desire.” He turned his face up to the man holding Jupiter by the arms. “Mr. Greeghan.”

“Yes, Mr. Abrasax?”

“Break her arm – the left one.”

But before he could, the office was swarmed by a team of FBI agents – they swooped in so quickly that Caine put his hands up, and got the hell out of the way. There had obviously been an order given not to shoot unless necessary, because although weapons were drawn, a brawl broke out.

In the chaos, Jupiter was tossed aside. Caine took the opportunity to sneak into the room on the perimiter and seek her out. He found her easily enough, and pulled her aside and out of the way. She wasn't conscious.

Distantly, Caine heard gunfire, and then Stinger's voice, as he tried to revive the crumbled woman in his arms.

“Jupiter – Jupiter! C'mon, Jupe – wake up. Wake up. Please.”

She groaned and rolled onto her side a moment. “Caine.”

“Yes! Jupiter, yes. You're safe. It's okay.”

“You fuckers were supposed to be watching me.”

Caine laughed; he couldn't help it. “I'm sorry,” he said readily. “It's my fault, Jupiter. I'm sorry.” Stinger was next to him then, relief etched into his features. “Get her some water, Stinger.” The older man nodded, and went in search of it.

“Where's Balem?” she asked.

“In custody,” replied Caine as he watched it happen. “Maybe with a gunshot wound, I don't know.”

“Am I done?” asked Jupiter, blinking up at him slowly. “They gonna send me back to St. Petersburg now?”

He cupped her face in his hand, and electricity shot through every nerve. “Don't worry about it right now,” he said. “I'll take care of you, Jupiter.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

There was an ambulance. And a concussion. And a lot of discussion about what she'd heard, and threats that she'd have to repeat herself.

And Agent Tsing promising not to deport her. They would discuss it in more detail, when there wasn't a concussion.

And Stinger, saying she'd make a great agent if she could straighten out her citizenship.

And Caine. Right next to her, the whole time. Caine was always there.

Late in the evening, when she was finally released to go home, she begged instead to stay with him. He was uncertain, but she didn't want to go home to her huge, worried family; not just yet. She'd prefer the quiet of his tiny apartment, even if it was a shithole. Even if he made her sleep on the couch again.

She soon found herself there, in the pajamas she'd bought from Target, her hair brushed, with Caine looking anxious. She smiled and hoped it would soothe him. “Are you going to get ready for bed?”

“First . . . I need to show you something.”

Jupiter nodded. “Okay.”

To her surprise he turned and walked down the little hallway, and opened his bedroom door, looking in for a moment with a resigned expression. Jupiter remembered then how adamant he was that she not go into it last night. He crooked a finger her, asking her to come closer, and she wondered what gave him such pause. She moved forward at his request, and once she reached him, he drew in a deep breath and led her inside.

It was spartan and impeccably neat, like the rest of his apartment – she didn't really expect anything less from a former soldier. There was a dresser and a bed, with a nightstand on either side. There were some free weights in one corner, and what she assumed was some other weight training equipment.

Then she noted that next to his neatly-made bed was a wheelchair, the kind without arms, or much of a back. In another corner of the room, there was a pair of crutches, and next to it, two different canes.

He drew in a deep breath, and sat down in the wheelchair. His heart was thudding hard in his chest. With shaking hands he rolled up the left leg of his jeans, and then the right. Then he sat back, and looked anywhere but her face, trying to muster up the right words.

Meanwhile, Jupiter found herself at a loss for them – it was a familiar feeling after the last three days. Actually, that wasn't quite true. She had a lot to say about Kalique Apini, and a strong desire to throw her off the roof of the Abrasax building. She knelt in front of him.

Eventually, he met her gaze, and found a merciful lack of pity there. There was surprise, and curiosity, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

“You lost your legs,” she whispered. He nodded, two brief tips of the head. “When your helicopter was hit?”

He nodded again. “My left leg was amputated mid-thigh,” he explained, and he tapped his leg to indicate where the prosthetic was actually attached. “The right leg is pretty much what you see. I'm lucky they were able to save so much of it – it's why I can still drive.”

“Can I touch?”

His breath in was sharp, but he nodded, and she raised her right hand to lay it on the knee joint of his left leg. It was cold plastic and metal, and she let her fingers run over it, and down the titanium rod that served as his calf. Then her left hand came up to cup the back of the more leg-shaped prosthesis attached just below his right knee. She leaned forward, and placed a reverent kiss on the scars there.

He was sure she could hear his heart thundering in his chest, and his hands came up involuntarily, weaving fingers into silken hair. “ _Jupiter_ ,” he breathed, and closed his eyes.

“Do they hurt?”

He knew she'd asked a question, but he could still feel her lips on the sensitive skin of his knee, so it was a long moment before he opened his eyes. He let himself think of her as lovely, and warmth blossomed across his cheeks. He couldn't bring himself to speak, so he shook his head.

“Do you get phantom pain?”

“My toes are tingling right now,” he replied with an inelegant guffaw, before he could stop himself. She chuckled and smiled up at him. He let her hair fall through his fingers, and then gathered it up again. “I had a lot of it, at first. It's really disorienting. But it fades with time – I hardly ever get it anymore.”

Jupiter looked down at his legs again, taking in the mechanics and the curves of his prostheses. “Mama once told me she had phantom pain when my dad was murdered,” she said, her voice low. “Like part of her soul had been ripped out. She said mourning was physical, not just emotional.” She looked up at him again, and could only describe his return gaze as adoring. “It must be the same way with losing limbs – it's obviously physical, but I imagine it's emotional, too.”

He could only nod, and wonder how she could possibly be real.

“Listen, Jupiter . . . I just want to say thank you. These last few days . . . you've been . . . generous.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just . . . you didn't judge me, even after you found out what I'd done – or thought I'd done – to Kallie. You've been kind to me.”

Jupiter's eyes held his for a long moment. Her hands were still on his artificial limbs. She swallowed.

“What kind of life have you had,” she asked, “where someone treating you like a human being is a novelty?”

Caine issued the only answer he could, just then. “The kind that led me to you.”

She rose up on her knees, and slid onto the bed next to him. She collected his hand in hers, and squeezed. “I like you, Caine Wise,” she said gently.

He squeezed back and replied, “I like you too, Jupiter Jones,” in such a reverent way that they both knew that it was so much more than that.

“I'm tired,” she replied. “Is it okay if I stay here?”

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. “Yes. You can sleep in here – I'll sleep on the couch.”

Her brow knit, and she drew his hand closer, setting it in her lap and cradling it between her fingers. “Um . . . I meant . . . with you.” She swallowed and looked him over for a moment, at his own furrowed brow and tightly clenched jaw, and wondered if she'd maybe asked too much. But he nodded slowly, and his right hand came up to caress her cheek.

“I'd like that.”

Jupiter smiled slowly. “You're touching me.”

“Do you mind?”

“No.” Her smile grew wider. “You can touch me anywhere you want.”

Caine found the idea of being able to touch as much as he pleased dizzying, and was glad he was sitting down. He smirked and made a joke to cover up his nerves. “I might want to keep it to just hands for the time being – it's a little overwhelming all at once.”

She chuckled. “Okay. Just hands. But I make no middle-of-the-night promises – I'm attracted to heat sources.”

A slow smile spread across his face.  It was the first time she’d ever seen it.

“Well . . . maybe hands . . . and lips.”

Jupiter leaned in, and never looked back.

 


End file.
